


The Boundary Edge

by TonicHoliday



Category: River (TV 2015)
Genre: Descent into Madness, Drabble Sequence, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-06-03 09:23:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19461070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TonicHoliday/pseuds/TonicHoliday
Summary: While attending the 'Living With Voices' support group, River finds a vacant seat often filled by an obtrusive presence.





	The Boundary Edge

**Author's Note:**

  * For [M J Holyoke (wholeyolk)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wholeyolk/gifts).



They call these four walls and a roof a church. 

Cream’s taken a vacant chair. River suspects Rosa sets it out to fuck with him, give his ‘voices’ a place to rest. 

“Almost blasphemous, is it not?” Cream asks, staring at the stained glass.

River folds his arms, tries to stop his attention wandering. 

“Traipsing your sins across hallowed ground, seeking redemption. I do not repent, River. Nor should you.”

“River?” Rosa asks. “Will you be speaking tonight?”

Cream speaks over her. “Join me, River. Relish in hate at my side. Delight in it.”

“No,” River snaps, answering them both.

~

He can’t recall the last time someone touched him because they wanted to. Not out of pity or to shove him away. Touching him. John River. Not the person they think he is.

Cream’s hands are warm against his shoulders. They squeeze, and it could almost be affectionate, but it only reminds River of the hold he has on him. 

While those sat in the support group’s circle tell their tales, Cream paces around the backs of their chairs.

“Duck … duck … duck,” he mouths, a hand passing over each mutterer’s head, never touching. 

He stops behind River. 

“Goose,” he whispers.

~

Cream’s provocations, River realises, always reach breaking point before his hirsute grin fades and, for a day or two, he finds relief: River snaps; he punches and kicks what doesn’t exist; then, the fetters break.

It’s physical. Muscle tension releases with a numbing adrenaline rush, and River can’t call Cream back into being even if he wanted to. 

Cream’s been silent almost two days. River’s fists still ache from the encounter. 

This week, there are newcomers at the babbler gathering. Every seat’s taken, but River can’t help hoping Rosa will set out an extra chair. Even silence has a presence.

~

When Cream isn’t peering over River’s shoulder, walking one step behind him, is he really gone or is he simply hiding in the wrinkles of River’s subconscious? 

When a tree falls in the woods…

“Where do you go?” River asks when Cream appears next. He’s perched on the stage at the back of the church, another prop. The others have yet to arrive.

“Where you will go when you embrace despair.”

“Hell?”

Stepping from the stage, Cream stops an inch before him. 

“A man’s hell can be anywhere, take any form. He does not need to die to find it.”

~

There’s a dent in the plaster from River flinging a chair at it. At Cream. 

He sprints from the church, coat flapping about his knees. Perspiring. Delirious. It feels good, almost pleasurable. Cream will be gone a while.

“You cannot escape me, River.” 

Stopping dead, River closes his eyes and inhales. 

“You and I are one. Without your death, I cannot die.”

River turns and seizes him, shoves him against brick and mortar. He grabs Cream’s groin. Grips and twists. Cream’s eyebrow quirks. 

“Another kind of madness?” He mirrors River’s touch, only softer. “You surprise me.”

It surprises River, too.

~

When he attacks Cream, he harms himself. His knuckles split. His skin bruises. Cream vanishes, but his presence remains on River’s skin. When he’s fucking him, he stays in control, discovers better relief from the trauma of dealing with him. 

Cream goads him on in a way that both encourages and belittles. 

“You can do better, River.”

He reaches the breaking point, face-down on crumpled sheets, in the dark and abruptly alone, but free. Their brief pseudo-physical bonding—a fight jointly won—breaks the mental tether. River can think, heal, sleeps like a baby. 

He’s made a heaven of hell.


End file.
